The Look On Your Face
by Starluff
Summary: Holmes makes a terrible miscalculation. "It doesn't matter what happens to me. Anything is worth this look on your face, right now." Written for Watson's Woes JWP practice prompt: Cliffhanger


**Title:** The Look On Your Face  
**Author(s):** Starluff  
**Rating:** PG  
**Character(s)/Pairings:** Holmes, Watson, and an unnamed phsycho.  
**Summary:** Holmes makes a terrible miscalculation. _"It doesn't matter what happens to me. Anything is worth this look on your face, right now."_ Written for Watson's Woes JWP practice prompt: Cliffhanger  
**Warnings:** _Maybe_ something will happen to our beloved characters. Who knows?  
**Word Count:** 644  
**Author's Notes:** Wow, I'm actually happy with this one! Probably means it sucks, haha. Not much else to say about it, really; I enjoyed writing, wrote it up pretty quickly today, and I was inspired by the Russian Sherlock Holmes here, though it can apply to any of them. Enjoy!

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You think you're so clever, don't you? Swimming in the alleys and side streets of London; flying from rooftop to rooftop; changing guises and characters as easily as changing your shoes. You can see so much in a man just by looking at him, and your keen mind pieces information together to fill in the puzzle called Truth. You live for the chase and the pursuit of the truth, laughing all the way. You enjoy it, love it, excel at it.

But you never suspected this. You came here with eyes shining and lips grinning, Holmes the sleuth hound, descending on its prey. Completely confident, weren't you? You had pieced together the whole puzzle and were going to use it as a weapon.

Ah, but you didn't get the whole picture, you know. You were so busy trying to figure out the past that you completely glanced over the pieces that made the present; data you deemed irrelevant. You were too busy looking back that you didn't bother to look around and see if you missed anything; if you were missing anyone. You had finished the puzzle of the past and that was enough.

Of course, it wasn't enough, as you can see right now. Right before your very eyes, once shining with triumph, now shining with horror. Your clever, clever brain, is only now noticing the pieces you had ignored earlier. One can almost see them all slamming down, lining up to make a beautiful, perfect picture. It's kind of cheating though, to do the puzzle backwards. What's the challenge in completing a puzzle, when the finished picture is right in front of you?

Is your blood running cold, clever detective? Is there ice in your veins? Have you ever felt such horror, such _regret,_ as you feel now? How is that brain coping? What are you thinking? Are you dwelling in the unchangeable past, of all the things you shouldn't have done and all you things you never did? Are you focused on the present, weighing your options and considering all likely scenarios? Or can you only think of the future and what it might – and probably will – bring?

If a train runs too fast, it falls off the rails. How fast are you going now?

I don't think I will ever be able to describe just how much I am enjoying this sight before me. Your flushed face has paled and your eyes are round, lips parted in surprise, soundlessly screaming in horror. Scream, poor detective, scream.

Because, even though there are so many Yarders in the area, even though they can all be summoned by the slightest blow of that whistle around your neck, you won't. Even though you have figured me out, solved the mystery and planned this trap so well, you missed a minor detail. You missed that your friend – your dear, _dear_ Boswell – had had such odd timing in getting a headache and feeling ill. You didn't even consider that the headache might not be natural, that it might have been coaxed on by a drug.

If your face is priceless now, how will it look if I pull the trigger on your poor friend, whose eyes are currently glassy and vacant, hardly even aware of what's going on around him? Aw, look! He's recognized your voice and is trying to find you through his mental fog, murmuring you name. Poor man, he can't even move properly. I kind of liked him, you know; he was so staunch and honest. It's too bad he had to be associated with you, but I don't regret it too much.

I'm trapped. There's no way out for me; you made sure to that. But I _can_ retaliate and get some margin of revenge.

It doesn't matter what happens to me. Anything is worth this look on your face, right now.


End file.
